


Getting A Word In Edgewise

by elementalv



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-21
Updated: 2009-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalv/pseuds/elementalv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They stumble across God at 4:16 on a Friday afternoon in a park that sits along the edge of Lake St. Clair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting A Word In Edgewise

They stumble across God at 4:16 on a Friday afternoon in a park that sits along the edge of Lake St. Clair. Dean and Cas are there because they heard what Cas called a “prophetic statement” from one of the homeless guys at a soup kitchen down on Cass Avenue, and the name of the street alone is enough to make Dean willing to go along with it. Sam is still on a redemption kick, though, which means he’s not in the mood to meet God just yet. He decides to help hand out food, and Dean thinks it isn’t a coincidence that Sam made his decision just as soon as he caught sight of Kara Grzbowski, a very pretty grad student from Wayne State University.

Whatever. Dean’s okay with anyone who gets Sam out of his funk of the day, and Kara seems like a nice kid. So him and Cas take off for the lake, and when they park, it takes a good half hour to get out of the lot, because his baby is back to the closest thing she has to a home, and three of her godfathers swarm around to tell Dean there’s a good chance at least one of them had a hand in getting her off the assembly line back in the day. With talk like that, there’s not a chance in hell Dean _isn’t_ opening up her hood so they can reassure themselves that she’s in good hands.

It’s pretty cool, talking to them, hearing what it was like to work on the line, and Dean could happily sit there for the rest of the day soaking it all up. Cas, on the other hand, couldn’t. He doesn’t exactly fidget, but Dean can tell he’s getting a little tense, so he tells the guys — Bert, Stan and Jackie — that him and Cas have an appointment. They look kind of disappointed, so Dean tells them to have fun and close the hood if they leave before he returns.

It’s one of those rare solutions that makes everyone happy, and Cas practically skips to the path (and yeah, okay, not really skipping, but for Cas, anything more than the measured steps he usually takes is something to take note of). The day is on the chilly side, but it’s not bad with the sun out and the sky a clear, pale blue. Dean is enjoying the walk, because for once, they aren’t running to or from something, so it’s kind of a surprise when Cas goes belly flat on the ground in front of an older woman — she’s kind of dumpy looking — without even warning Dean that something’s up.

“Father,” Cas gasps, and Jesus, he sounds like he’s almost in tears. “I have rebelled.”

The lady, maybe in her fifties with wispy brown and gray hair, looks up from her knitting and frowns at Cas.

“What _are_ you talking about?”

Dean is about to intervene, explain that his friend just went on a new course of medication and they’ll be going now, but before he can, Cas says, “I have rebelled. I have hidden the vessels from the Host, and the Host means to kill me.”

The woman looks at him for a long moment then sighs. “Again?”

Cas answers in a small voice, “Yes, Father.”

“Hm.”

Dean blinks and says, “Wait. What?”

She ignores him and says, “I think, Castiel, that you need to reconsider your definition of rebellion.”

“No, really,” Dean says. “What the fuck?”

She looks at Dean finally, and for the first time ever in his life, Dean feels absolutely naked. There’s not a damn thing he’s done that this lady — _God? God’s a woman?_ — doesn’t know every single little detail about, and it freaks him out. He wants to cover himself, but hell, he’s already wearing three or four layers of clothing topped off by a jacket. If that doesn’t cover him, what will? But he puts both hands in front of his crotch anyway and maybe gets why Cas is face down on the ground.

“Yes, I suppose you do at that,” She says to Dean, and man, he hates it when people answer shit he’s thinking instead of what he actually says out loud. She gives him a stern look and says, “Deal with it, because before we get into your issues, we need to settle Castiel’s heart and mind.” She leans over and touches Cas on the back of his head. “Stand before your Father, child.”

Cas does, but it’s hard for him. It’s like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and after a moment, Dean thinks that sounds about right. Aside from Anna, Cas is the only angel to give more than half a shit about humanity, so yeah. “Weight of the world” works, and because standing in front of God with all that responsibility and worry riding him hard can’t be too easy, it takes Dean all of half a second to step forward and take his place next to Cas. No way is he letting Cas take all the heat, not when Dean himself has the lion’s share of responsibility for starting the apocalypse. Also? No way is he taking his hands away from his crotch.

God, for Her part looks amused and says, “So you’ll stand by Castiel, Dean Winchester?”

“Yeah,” he says. There’s more he wants to say, words and snark bubbling up on his tongue, but hard as he tries, he can’t let any of it out. On the one hand, it sucks, not being able to come out with a patented Dean Winchester smartass remark. On the other hand, it’s probably just as well he can’t make his voice work to mouth off to God.

“What do you think about that, Castiel?”

Cas is surprised by the question, doesn’t quite get what God means, because he asks, “Father?”

“A human stands ready to defend you, an angel, against My wrath,” She says as she starts knitting again. “It’s not exactly your run-of-the-mill event, is it?”

“No,” Cas says, and right there, Dean is convinced that Cas has a lot more to say than just “no.” In fact, Dean’s certain that Cas has an entire gospel to say on the subject, but for some reason, God doesn’t want to hear it spoken out loud.

“Hm.” She frowns at the — whatever it is she’s making — and unravels a couple of rows. “Do you recall what My command was when I created Dean’s earliest ancestors?”

“You told us to love them.”

“Do you?” Cas glances at Dean then looks straight ahead again, and She says, “I’m not talking about just Dean.”

Cas freaking _blushes_ at that and stammers out, “Yes.”

Still without looking up, she says, “Then I don’t quite understand what you mean by rebellion.”

“Zacariah —”

“—Is in danger of getting his wings clipped if he doesn’t stop acting like a jackass.” She smiles down at the sweater — and it _is_ a sweater now when just a minute or two before, it was a few rows of stitches — then holds it up against Dean’s chest. “Take this. You’ll need it.”

“Ma’am?” Cas kicks him, and Dean corrects himself, squeaking out, “Father?”

“I know you aren’t happy about the possibility of being Michael’s vessel,” She says, and the amount of love and understanding in Her voice and eyes is almost enough to take Dean to his knees. “But it may not be avoidable.”

“Sam —”

She sighs. “Do you trust Me?”

“No.” Cas elbows him, and Dean says, “What? I’m gonna _lie_?”

She says, “Stop fussing, Castiel. He gave an honest answer.” She pats the bench and says, “Sit.”

Dean really doesn’t want to, but he’s pretty sure She cheated, because a blink later, he’s sitting next to her, holding a skein of yarn while she winds it into a ball. Cas is still standing there, looking really freaked out, then the next moment, he’s sitting on the other side of her and _also_ holding a skein of yarn she’s winding into a second ball at the same time. Dean tries not to look too closely at her hands and lap, because his eyes are starting to hurt just trying to figure out how the hell that’s possible when she still only has two hands.

“You and Sam argue quite a bit, don’t you?” She asks.

“Well. Yeah. Brothers, you know?”

“I do know. I also know that you and Sam inevitably make peace with one another, isn’t that right?”

Dean bites his lip. “Yeah, but —”

“Granted, it isn’t exactly the healthiest sibling relationship I’ve seen, but the pair of you are starting to get over your codependency issues, so I have hope.”

“Now wait just a —”

“The point is that you’re doing well with each other.” The balls of yarn are tucked at Her side now — and Dean is just now trying to figure out why he’s completely bought into the idea of Her being God when he’s usually a lot more cynical than this — and She’s started knitting again. “I’m even willing to go so far as to call your relationship a role model.”

Castiel jerks a little at that, and he gives Dean a wide-eyed look behind Her back. “Um. Okay. But —”

“I truly think other brothers would do well to be guided by your experience and hard-earned wisdom. Especially brothers who’ve been angry with one another for a while.”

Dean sits there and doesn’t say anything. It’s not like She’s going to let him get a word in edgewise, and anyway, She already knows what he’s thinking. Also, he thinks he knows where She’s going with this, and he’s not exactly happy about it. Let Michael and Lucifer figure it out on their own damn dime and just leave him and Sammy out of it. He hates this, hates feeling trapped into saying yes when all he wants to do is say no, _no_, NO.

“The choice and consent are always yours, Dean, no matter what pressure may be brought to bear. And you’ve already seen that it can be considerable,” She says, looking him straight in the eye. “And here’s a bit more to add to what you’ve already suffered: if you say no, My children will do battle using imperfect vessels and perhaps destroy the world.”

“They’ll do that anyway if we say yes,” he says, frustrated that he seems to be the only one who _gets_ it.

“Not exactly. You and Sam were created specifically to hold Michael and Lucifer, to contain and channel their power at manageable levels. If the pair of you say yes, then the world won’t actually collapse under the weight of their struggle.” She finishes another sweater and nudges Castiel. “Do you think it’s large enough?”

Castiel, who looks like he could use a bottle or two of hard liquor right about now, mutters, “Yes, Father.”

She hands the sweater to Dean and says, “This one’s for Sam. He’ll need to wear it at the same time you put yours on.”

Dean blurts out, “When?”

“You’ll know when the time comes,” She says. And then She’s knitting again, because apparently, keeping up with the local chapter of Stitch ‘N Bitch is more important than, say, stopping the Apocalypse.

“Don’t be snide, Dean.” She slaps him on the back of the head and then holds the yarn up next to Castiel’s face. “Yes. I think this color will do nicely for you.”

“Um. Ma’am?” He can’t bring himself to call Her “Father.” He had a father, and his father, more often than not, had five o’clock shadow if not a full beard. God has maybe a few stray beard hairs, which always looks weird on a woman, but She also has a pretty impressive set of boobs, which Dad, even at his heaviest, could never match.

“You have a very disturbing train of thought at times,” She says, looking at Dean like he’s some kind of weird puzzle. “Speak your mind and don’t worry about what to call Me.”

“I can’t say yes, because there’s not a chance I can — can —” Dean swallows and continues, “I can’t even say it.”

She looks at Dean for a moment then says, “Castiel, when Jimmy was still alive and with you, did he ever have the slightest control of his body?”

“No. Never,” Cas says. He doesn’t sound quite as wrecked as he did before, and Dean is even willing to say he looks like he might be considering cheerful as a possible emotion to explore at some point in the future.

“My point, Dean, is that it won’t be you and Sam doing battle. It will be Michael and Lucifer.”

“Yeah, using _our_ bodies.”

“Using your bodies and, I hope, working out their differences.” The way She says it makes it sound like all She’s talking about is Michael and Lucifer borrowing a set of tools to work on the car again, and that’s just ass. Still. Not like he can say that to Her, so he calms himself down and thinks about the end game.

“And once they ‘work out their differences,’ Michael can lock that son of a bitch up again, right?” Dean tries very hard not to think about the fact that he just called God a bitch and hopes She’ll let it pass.

“Maybe.” And damn, if She doesn’t look and sound a little shifty at that.

Dean stares at Her. “What do You mean, _maybe_? It’s Lucifer we’re talking about.”

“Yes, Lucifer — my Morning Star and still beloved.”

“But he —”

Dean thinks about everyone who’s died since Lucifer rose and the way they’ve died. He thinks about Bobby, trapped in a wheelchair and getting more and more bitter every day. He thinks about Jo and Ellen, who disappeared months ago, only to show up on the evening news last week, when their remains were identified from a mass grave. He thinks about all of the hunters and other good people who’ve been thoroughly screwed over by the Apocalypse, and he can’t quite figure how God _wouldn’t_ lock the bastard up tight again.

“I know what he’s done, and I know he’s done quite a bit more that you’ll never hear about. Even so, it’s still possible he’ll be forgiven,” She says.

“How?” he asks, putting as much frustration as possible into that one word, because it’s clear she’s not getting it, especially the part where him and Sam are broken little meatsuits at the end of it all.

“All he has to do is ask forgiveness. That’s all anyone has to do,” She says quietly, and then She sighs. “Do you honestly believe that injury or death will befall you and Sam if you don’t wish it?”

“I — um.” It’s a good question, so She has a point. Sort of — in the way that She has a point if Dean believes She isn’t about to dick him over.

“I’m not, but I can see where you’d be skeptical.” She hands a finished sweater over to Castiel then packs up the rest of Her knitting and stands up. “You don’t have to make your decision today, but you’ll have to make it soon. Castiel knows how to get in touch with Me now. Let him know when you’re ready to commit to one course of action or the other.”

She walks off, leaving Dean to stare at nothing much in particular. For the first time since this thing started, he doesn’t feel completely hopeless and terrified of what’s to come. And yeah, maybe She’s lying, but he doesn’t really think so, and it’s not because She thinks Zachariah’s a jackass. Well. Not completely. Against his better judgment, he’s starting to trust Her, maybe even have a little faith that him and Sammy will make it out of this in one piece.

He looks over at Cas, who has a kind of stunned look, and Dean thinks about a blush he never expected to see on Cas’ face, and it turns out that gives Dean some hope, too. It’s a “huh” kind of moment, and one he would like to have enjoyed for a little while, but just then, he catches sight of Stan trying to jog up. Dean has his phone halfway out of the pocket, because Stan looks like he’s been hitting the pierogies pretty hard for the last few years and probably shouldn’t be moving faster than a slow walk. It hits him then, that maybe Stan is hauling ass for a reason, and Dean starts running to meet him halfway.

“My baby —?”

“Eh, she’s okay,” Stan puffs out. “But me and the boys, we’re getting ready to head over to Old St. Mary’s. They got a fish fry going on tonight, and we thought maybe you and your friend could come along. There’s an awful lot of guys who’d love to get a look your sweetheart, you know?”

Cas looks like he’s about to veto dinner, but Dean thinks, _Screw that_, and says, “We’d love to, right, Cas?”

“Dean, we have —”

“Dinner waiting for us along with a bunch of good people to meet.” A bunch of car people, really, which equals all kinds of good in Dean’s book, and they’re the perfect way to end the day. Cas rolls his eyes, and Dean enjoys both the victory and the chance to not have to think about the Apocalypse for a while.


End file.
